Return to the Past: A Cartoon Network Extravaganza
by Harrand Dewagon
Summary: It's the return of the '00s Cartoon Network shows! The Powerpuff Girls, a number of years after the end of the show, receive a mysterious visitor from another dimension looking for aid. They soon realize their world is in danger, too, and old friends, new friends, and even enemies must band together if they are to defeat the shapeshifting master of darkness coming their way.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

Under a perpetually evening sky, Dramank ascended a steep slope of rock in the middle of Tokyo. The details of the city below―its misshapen buildings, disgusting streets, and all manner of inhuman filth―incrementally shrank from sight. When he completed the ascent, he stood briefly in the glow of a sinister aperture before he stepped inside, leaving the mechanical cesspool of poverty and squalor behind.

He already missed it.

He had made this climb many times in his service, and he didn't think he would ever get used to it. He didn't think he'd ever be able to still the inner tremors that wracked him, tremors whose frantic message he was powerless to heed. Dramank did not know Hell (in his world, Hell had never existed in the minds of men), but he would have recognized it nonetheless if informed of it. He would immediately have thought of this place.

The source-less firelight illuminated the huge, bottomless interior of this decidedly non-urban rock castle. Dramank walked along the outcropping protruding from the entrance. Countless stalagmites in the distance (for this place seemed to know no boundary) carried the same shape as the outcropping, looking for all their motionlessness like angry tails of flame.

And in the middle of it all, a shadow that no light could have created. Uncannily, it _stole_ light from wherever it came. A long, chalice-like shape, it ended in a rough crown that recalled a dead spider.

"Master Aku," he said. "The spies have given their report."

The shadow _turned._ A shadow in three dimensions, Dramank thought, was more unnerving than most people would think. More unnerving still was the face atop it: green, sneering lips, long fangs, pillars of fire for eyebrows. The eyes, in their unblinking constancy, spoke of immeasurable age.

"And?" The single word came from the mouth, of course, but it also seemed to come from everywhere else, even from inside Dramank himself.

"He has entered a portal. The Tyflinn, in the Eastern Lands―"

"I have felt the disruption," admitted the demon. Aku turned to the cave wall, intoning gravelly. "That foolish samurai continues to seek the past, even though I have―" here, he raised his terrible voice and shadowy fist, "―SMASHED THAT ACCURSED SWORD OF HIS…" He let out a few chuckles: a faint remnant of the moment the sword had been destroyed, and Aku filled all the Earth with his laughter. Dramank remembered it well. "You must admire his stubbornness, I suppose."

"Master―"

"Shall I reiterate this for you, Dramank?" Aku went on, sensing the named man's uncertainty. "He cannot use time travel to fix this dilemma. He cannot retrieve the sword from himself in the past, because he will then exist in the same time twice. He cannot travel to before his time; his mere presence will prevent him from being born."

"Master Aku," Dramank said, unsure whether he was coming off as patient or nervous. "The samurai hasn't gone back in time."

Aku turned back with heart-stopping speed, but his speech was slow. "What nonsense is this?"

"The Tyflinn's magic doesn't do that. He has entered a different dimension entirely."

Aku bent down with all the immensity of nightfall. His face lowered, closer and closer, to Dramank. The fires of his countenance bathed Dramank from head to toe with heat.

"Explain," he said.

Dramank hadn't lasted this long by quavering visibly in situations like this, and he didn't now. Aku liked to keep people around who reminded him of his greatness through their fear, but he also saw the importance of those who spoke plainly and were dependable. "The Tyflinn's magic works because of where they live," he said. "The air in that small place across the ocean is reported to be…thin. And strange."

"It is called a lack of pollution, Dramank," Aku remarked in his occasional dryness.

"Indeed, O Great One. Nonetheless, many foul creatures who wander there have disappeared."

"Mmmmm." Now Aku made no movement, and Dramank finally lowered his eyes. Even he couldn't look directly at the Master of Darkness when his intentions were so unclear. Aku could be so angry that he would burn a veteran such as Dramank to a crisp. Dramank had seen it happen before.

"Dramank. Do you know what this means?" Purely interrogative, no apparent excitement behind it.

"I don't, sir."

"In this _other dimension_ , someone lives in that very spot. Someone powerful, someone dangerous. A being―or perhaps beings―strong enough to rupture the laws of magic and nature that separate dimensions."

Dramank tried not to read too much into that. For Aku to be calling someone dangerous…

"Do you know, however, what it _also_ means?" The sneer was back. The hot light of the cavern dimmed, was drawn more and more into that unfathomable body. Dramank wondered when he could return to the crime-ridden alleys of the city.

"No, sir."

"It means―" And now there was actual excitement, honest and genuine giddiness. Dramank had never felt such a chill in his life. "―there is another whole world for the taking."


	2. Chapter 1: The City of Townsville

**CHAPTER ONE: THE CITY OF TOWNSVILLE**

A booming metropolis! A great big bastion of the modern world! There it sits under a flawless blue sky as its people run about the tasks of everyday life.

There's Townsville Bakery, where there's no shortage of scrumptious treats to share with the city's hungry citizens!

Here's Townsville Park, where well-meaning parents take their children for a fun day of frivolity!

And there's Townsville's monster….

TOWNSVILLE'S MONSTER!?

Oh no! It's hideous! Orange scales, teeth and back spikes equally long, half again as tall as the tallest skyscraper. Men and women scream, run! What will Townsville do?

Luckily, just outside of Townsville's borders, in quiet Suburbia:

BRAMP, BRAMP, BRAMP.

…..

BRAMP, BRAMP, BRAMP.

…..

BRAMP, BRA―

"God, Buttercup, will you get that already?" Blossom lay on top of the bedspread she shared with her two twin sisters, head over dark forest green and feet kicking idly over a deep rosy pink. Two textbooks and a spiral notebook sprawled under her face, which had carried a studious look, but which now glared at her sister. "Some of us are doing _hoooooomewwwwwork._ " She sounded out the word in an exaggerated fashion.

Buttercup, who lounged on the other side of the criminally messy room, lifted one half of a pair of comically oversized headphones from her ear. "Yeah, some of us are doing _next week's_ homework," she responded. "Others of us are listening to kick-ass music."

"Ugghhh! Can't you for once just get the―"

But Buttercup only made jerky motions with her arms in sync with the electronic music. " **I cannot hear you** ," she said. " **I am programmed only to dance.** "

"I'll get it!" said Bubbles in a sing-song voice, and zipped across the room in a blue flash. The latest issue of the latest manga she'd gotten her hands on fluttered to the floor. "Powerpuff Girls! Bubbles speaking."

For a moment, the other end of the line was silent, as though waiting for a familiar memory of a blathering, hysterical voice. Then, a clipped tone: "Giant monster. Make it snappy." The line went dead.

"Okay!" Bubbles replaced the receiver into the cradle. "Giant monster!" she cried. She made a jet out one of the circular windows in their room, the same blue streak trailing behind her.

"Right behind you!" Blossom called. She quickly stacked her things so they wouldn't fly everywhere, then she followed Bubbles outside. They sailed together across the quaint houses of their neighbors at blinding speed, fast approaching the city.

Go girls! Go! Hurry!

"What happened?" Buttercup flew up beside them. "I looked up and you guys were gone."

"Huh. Big surprise," Blossom said. "You know, if you'd listen more carefully, you wouldn't get left behind."

"Whatever."

Uh oh. Looks like some tension has arisen between these two. Can't they just get alo―?

"Oh, shaddup!" said Buttercup.

The narrator did.

To the girls's bemused dismay, it wasn't even a particularly exciting monster. It was as tall as any structure in the center of the city, swinging its stubby limbs at its inanimate competitors. Its countless eyes moved as one from side to side, up and down. Its orange, scaly skin covered all but those eyes.

"Do you remember Steve?" Bubbles asked, as she clocked the monster on top of the head. "I liked Steve."

"Oh yeah!" Buttercup directed her heat vision at their target, which roared in pain. "Cyclops, kind of heart-shaped, actually talked?"

"He said monsters come here hoping to challenge us," said Blossom. "How about it, big guy? You wanted a piece of us? Well, you got it!"

The monster, dazed, rocked back and forth on its heels.

"Alright girls, let's wrap this up." Blossom spread her arms, and her sisters followed her lead. "POWERPUFF…WRECKING BA―"

They screamed. Blinding white light sparked all around them, bringing an equally blinding pain. When it dissipated, they plummeted to the ground and crashed into the pavement. Atop a nearby building, a small strand of smoke trailed from the mouth of a wide gun barrel. Behind it stood a green-faced, bipedal primate with a flowing, flapping purple cape and matching tunic. A particularly hairy primate.

"Muahahahaha!" Mojo Jojo cried as the girls groaned and detached themselves from the holes they'd made in the asphalt. "You Powerpuff Girls are always focused on the monster when a monster comes! So I thought, why not seize the opportunity? Thus I have caught you off guard, unawares, backs turned, none the wiser…"

"Well, at least this is something different from him," Buttercup muttered under his stream of redundancies.

"But just as stupid," Blossom put in. "Alright, Mojo, the jig is up. Put down the ray gun and come quietly."

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" Mojo showed a row of teeth. "I do not think I will."

"Whatever," Buttercup said. "Let's roast 'im!"

They flew at their eternal archnemesis…only to be smacked aside by an orange stump. The monster had regained its bearings.

"I would say you have larger problems to worry about!" Mojo Jojo said, cackling.

 _Dang_ , Blossom thought. This just got complicated. Mojo Jojo opened fire with his laser again; they had to be aware of that while still fighting a monster. Not only that, but the monster was faster now, as impossible as that seemed. Its attacks were as relentless as Mojo's. Blossom had to focus. Her sisters were waiting for her instruction. It was hard to concentrate, though, with those terrible monster's eyes following them wherever they went.

 _All_ of its eyes…

"Buttercup!" Blossom yelled. "Come around to its left with me! Bubbles, as soon as we do, get Mojo!"

And they were off. Because Blossom and Buttercup went first, the monster completely missed Bubbles as she attacked Mojo Jojo. As many eyes as it had, it couldn't make them move independently of one another. For the same reason, a moment later, when Blossom and Buttercup themselves split up, Buttercup was entirely in its blind spot.

She quickly punched out two of its eyes. When it turned its attention toward her, Blossom took her turn. And on and on they went. Irritated tears trickled from the monster's bleary orbs. It tried to find the accursed tiny attackers again, but the damaged eyes weren't as effective as they had been a minute ago.

The two girls were uninterrupted by Mojo Jojo. Bubbles had done her part. She had flown to Mojo's left, low, so he wouldn't hit her sisters but so there was a chance he would shoot the monster. He, in fact, did shoot the monster, buying Buttercup and Blossom an extra few seconds.

"Ach! Stay still, you little runt!" he growled.

Bubbles dodged and weaved. She couldn't get close! So she screamed, and expanding circles of vibration from her open mouth made Mojo Jojo shudder. He clapped his hands to his ears and dropped the gun. Bubbles barreled into him, delivered an uppercut and left cross, and laid him out on the building he had chosen as his vantage point.

"Hah!" She stood over him with a foot on his chest. "You are defeated, Mojo-chan!"

"Oh brother." Mojo Jojo rolled his eyes. "What junk are they feeding children these days?"

"It's not junk, IT'S MAGICAL PRINCESS VOLUME 5!" Bubbles yelled. "She's a superhero, like me."

"Oh, good for you," Mojo drawled.

The air whipped at them harshly, and they both looked up to find helicopters descending. Police officers in full protective gear hopped out and formed disciplined lines. One broad-shouldered man stepped out from the others, one with a large red mustache and beady eyes.

"Bubbles," he said, a little darkly. "Hand him over to us now."

"Okay!" she said cheerfully, and literally picked Mojo up and held him out to the chief. A few snickers drifted from the line-up, quickly silenced by a glance from their boss. At that, Bubbles' good spirit faltered.

Meanwhile, her sisters tossed the monster back into the ocean from whence it had come. Blossom noticed the crowd of cops, and her nerves jumped. "C'mon," she said to Buttercup, and they joined their sister in seconds.

"Secure the blaster," the chief ordered. Two of his men did; then, once Mojo Jojo was standing, two other slapped cuffs on him. Mojo pulled, but couldn't break them. Of course not. _He_ didn't have superpowers.

"Curse you, Powerpuff Girls." But he didn't shriek it, as he normally might have. He only muttered it. Then, the police led him quietly away.

"Excuse me, Powerpuff Girls?" someone repeated. It was a woman in a striped pantsuit. Her pointy-edged glasses gave her a stern demeanor. "The mayor asked me to come. He wants you over at City Hall."

"We're on it," said Buttercup. Good. She wanted to ditch this scene. She didn't like how the cops were making her feel. Neither did her sisters, from the look of it―especially Bubbles, who seemed crestfallen.

As they took off, a cheer arose from the streets, something to which the girls had grown accustomed in their many years of crime-fighting…but something about it seemed off.

"Hey," said Bubbles. "Do they seem quiet to you guys?"

They did. It wasn't the people who _were_ cheering; they called and hooted and praised as loudly as they ever had. What the girls were realizing just now was that there were _fewer_ cheerers than there once had been. When had that happened?

A pallor that hadn't been there that morning stayed with them through their whole flight.

They landed gracefully before the impeccably white building of City Hall. Inside, they walked into the mayor's office through the double doors. The man in the old high-backed swivel chair wasn't short. No bald head, no hat, no mustache, as much as the girls still expected it after all this time. The mayor they'd known their whole lives hadn't held the title for six months. In his place sat a man whom, even before he had become the new mayor of Townsville, the girls had seen before: in a much smaller office in the town of Citiesville. He had a full head of white hair and a long, lined face that had a way of brooking no argument.

When they came in, he put down his pen and looked at them over clasped hands. "I've heard that you three cut off some police officers dealing with a bank robbery in progress," he said. His voice was almost permanently dry.

They looked at each other, nervous. "Yeah?" The word was a challenge from Buttercup. "So? They were doing a bad thing, so we stopped it."

"You know what we discussed," he said. "No interfering in common crimes."

Buttercup opened her mouth again―probably some snappy retort was forthcoming―but Blossom put an arm across her sister's chest, and she fell silent.

"We're sorry we went against your order, Mayor," Blossom said reasonably. "The thing is, when we see wrongdoing, we act to stop it. It's our moral imperative. It's what got us crime-fighting in the first place. We can't ignore something because it's a certain type of crime. It's just not in our nature."

There was a long pause. The mayor considered them. The girls shuffled their feet.

"I'm going to speak plainly to you," he finally said, and his voice had changed. There was a note of sympathy in it, maybe even caring. "Not only do you deserve it, but I think you can handle it. You don't get much credit because of how you look, but I think you're more mature than many adults. The problem is, not everyone thinks that way, so you haven't had the luxury of learning what any adult must.

"I feel sorry for you, Powerpuff Girls. You're not much older than my granddaughter, to tell you the truth. But the fact of the matter is, if you want to remain relevant in this city―relevant anywhere, even―you're going to have to look certain hard things in the face. Despite your appearance, anyone who's really paying attention can see you're experienced. Battle-hardened. But only against monsters and supervillains, who are, let's face it, only a few innings out of the whole ballgame.

"There have always been two types of crime in Townsville. The kind we need you three for, and the kind we don't. The kind that punches, heat vision, and ice breath don't solve. Organized crime, murder investigations, corruption in business. You were never exposed to such things. The previous mayor saw to that." He smiled to himself. "Yes. Yes, the previous mayor did. _She_ certainly did."

The girls exchanged glances again. Did he mean Miss Bellum?

"But that's in the past. Here's the point. The golden age of superheroes is over, and because of you three, Townsville is the last place to realize it. Other major cities around the world suffered from this sickness of… _dependence_ on people in costumes, but things have changed. Major Glory has retired, Valhallen apparently left Earth, and the Association of World Super Men hasn't made any collective action in over a year.

"Listen. I was the mayor of Citiesville for many years. I have only one term left in me. I know that now. I like you girls, I really do, and if you're going to stick around long after I'm gone, then you need to learn these things. You need to be ready for changing minds in the city. You need to be ready for a mayor who's openly hostile to you, like I once was in Citiesville."

The girls didn't look at each other this time, but they didn't need to. They were all thinking about what Bubbles had said about that crowd. About how it was quieter than it used to be.

"There's something I should show you," he said, pushing himself up with the desk. It looked like it wasn't easy. "No one else has taken the time to. Meet me at Townsville Jail."

"C'mon, mayor," Buttercup said. "Let us carry you. The old mayor did!"

"My car is just fine," the new mayor said before exiting the room.

"In case you haven't been paying attention recently, this is the newly constructed wing." The mayor opened a door upon a fluorescent-lit corridor, even brighter than the day outside. Uniformly spaced cells lined the hall. They looked unfinished; concrete blocks littered the floors, and trowels caked with mortar rested atop fresh packages of mix.

"Why are we here, mayor?" Bubbles asked.

"As you can see," he said, "security and, more importantly, living conditions have been vastly improved. Prison reform is in full force, girls. It's not enough to throw criminals in the clink, and it never has been."

"Um, no." Buttercup talked like she might have to the biggest idiot in the whole class. "That's the whole point."

"Is it? That only makes sense if bad guys are just that: bad guys. And to think that is easy, real easy. To try to turn them into something other than bad guys: that's hard.

"The story isn't over when the cell doors close. Townsville is used to this rinse-and-repeat cycle where criminals come here to stay for good, because it's where they belong _._ Or, stay until they find a way out. But not only is that not sustainable, it doesn't reduce the possibility of criminals growing up in the next generation. What we really want is a prison system that can unmake criminals―and keep the ones that can't be unmade."

Cells further down were complete. Panes of glass, not rusting bars, secured them from the civilized world. The finished rooms inside were clean, white, and seemingly a little more spacious than the old cells. The air smelled stale, almost sickening―the smell of cleaners. Blossom realized that the offensive odors of prison had become so commonplace to them over the years, that they were smelling what most people wouldn't notice.

But it was the cells's inhabitants that were the most shocking. Always, they had been dressed in black and white, violent, raucous, and leering. These guys, dressed in orange instead, were well-behaved! Two of them were even too absorbed in books to notice their popular visitors.

"Highlight lesson of the day, girls: everything has to be paid for. Everything. By all accounts, Townsville should have gone the way of Citiesville much sooner. You three know: my old city hasn't seen its best years since I was a young man." His audience nodded. "Not only has Townsville avoided that fate, it has prospered. And that is only because of one man: Morbucks."

"Morbucks?" Buttercup asked, a touch of anger in her voice. "You mean, like _Princess_ Morbucks?"

"Mr. Morbucks, yes. I don't know what Townsville would have done without him. Sure, his daughter's a spoiled brat―" (Blossom smirked triumphantly at this) "―and his one real weakness of character is that he can't seem to say no to her, at least not as much as she needs to hear it. But he's a philanthropist, no question about it. By this point, his money is in every building here in Townsville.

"His generosity has given Townsville a chance to re-brand itself. We don't intend to―"

Buttercup gasped. She zoomed to one of the cells and pressed her face to the glass. From the inside, her already large eyes were further magnified. "Look!" she said.

"Right," the mayor said, joining her. "We've made it to the high-profile zone…"

A tall, skinny young man with long, greasy black hair sat disconsolately on his narrow bed. His long chin and pale, sickly skin made him seem vampiric―without any of the threat. He didn't notice his visitors; he wouldn't take his eyes from the window, despite its small size and the paltry view it offered.

Blossom peered through as well but the strange man didn't have the same effect on her. "Buttercup, what's wrong?"

"That's _Ace._ "

Blossom was thunderstruck. "Wait, _what_?"

"Ace D. Copular," the mayor confirmed. "Leader of the now defunct Gangreen Gang."

"Well…I guess that explains why we haven't seen them for a while," Blossom said. "Okay, but why isn't he green anymore? And where are the others?"

But before the mayor could respond, Ace finally realized they were there. His eyes, which they had rarely seen, were forlorn when he turned, but then color rushed to his cheeks as a smile bloomed.

"Girls!" he said in his thick accent, muffled by the glass. He stumbled over to them, shaking vaguely. "I'm so happy to see youse!"

"Uh…heeeeeeeyyyyyyyy, Ace," Blossom said, eyes squinting in an awkward, forced smile.

"My boys…they took them away from me, girls! Billy, Snake, Arturo, Grubber―all gone! Please, ya gotta help me! Won'tcha help your old pal?"

Bubbles clapped her hands to her mouth in a horrified gesture. Blossom threw her a disapproving look, which Bubbles didn't notice. Buttercup's face was still all but glued to the see-through panel. "Where are they, mayor?" asked Blossom.

"They're not here because they don't belong here," he explained. "They never instigated a thing. It was always this one. Without him, we've got them working on their GED's so they can get jobs."

"What's a GED?" Bubbles asked.

"It's what you do instead of going to high school, dummy." Buttercup finally turned away from Ace to deliver her insult, and there were spots of red in her cheeks.

"Mr. Gribberish is already an English teacher's assistant at Townsville High," the mayor said. "Away from the gang, he doesn't blow a single raspberry. Imagine that."

"This guy's got them bein'…being all upstandin' citizens and whatnot!" Ace howled. He held his hands, which were shaking harder than ever, tight against his gut. "They need their buddy! They need me! GIRLS!"

"Walk away," the mayor advised. "Don't listen, don't look back."

As they did: "But mayor," Bubbles protested (though she had enough presence of mind to whisper), "I don't think he's faking it. I think he really misses them."

"I know he does," the mayor responded, just as softly. "And that makes him more dangerous to them, not less."

They continued walking, allowing the already muted voice of Ace to die away. After his cell, one after another were again unoccupied. In the absence of any change, the girls began to notice the echoes of their footfalls. They trailed away, fading into the silence.

"A bit of a misnomer, 'gangreen,'" the mayor eventually said. "Once the docs started working on them, it was clear it wasn't gangrene. They couldn't carry gangrene for over ten years and still walk around. No, it's something with their livers, don't quite remember what it's called. Though, it seems the cause was a steady diet of snails."

"Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew," Bubbles chanted. Buttercup cackled over her.

Blossom rolled her eyes. "Any other villain developments we should be aware of, mayor?" she asked. At the same time, she wondered why more people didn't already know about this stuff.

He thought for a moment. "Well, the Amoeba Boys are in quarantine. Separate facility. They're buffoons, but they've caused some trouble in the past just for being what they are.

"Now this―" he stopped in front of a cell, "―is intended for a very special guest."

This room, unlike any of the others, was larger and walled in metal. The bed and window were the same, but a new contraption hung from the high ceiling: a long, padded bar supported by two thick wires. Twice as many books lined the cell's shelves, justifying the little reading lamp above the bed.

"Who, mayor?" Bubbles asked.

He turned to her with a little smile. "You caught him today."

"Ohhhh." She took another look at the hanging handlebars and giggled, imagining Mojo Jojo swinging around on that.

"We've been waiting for him to do something for weeks, ever since this was finished," the mayor went on. "He's going to go away for a long time, girls. No permanent resident of Townsville has caused as much mayhem as he has, and it ends now. If bells and whistles in his cell can keep him preoccupied, I'm game."

He showed them through a back exit, and they emerged back into sunlight. "This is what I meant, girls. Townsville is learning to get by without you. I know that sounds harsh," he said, seeing the expressions on their faces, "but I encourage you to see it as a good thing. We all want the city to be a place that doesn't invite some kind of big trouble every day. Deep down, I think even you want Townsville not to need the Powerpuff Girls.

"Of course, there are dreams and there is reality. Now is not the time to say goodbye. No one would outlaw your powers today, like I once did. The monsters are a big part of that: they aren't going anywhere. However, what you've seen today will help keep supervillains behind bars―physically and mentally. The days when Mojo Jojo is released every other week to wreak havoc are over. And maybe one day, we will deal with the monster problem. Maybe we'll finally relocate them from Monster Isle and destroy it. You have to be ready for that day. If it happens…you'll be part of a truly bygone era."

The words hung in the hazy summer air. Bubbles stared very hard past the mayor, her lips quivering. Blossom touched her sister's back, admiring her growing ability to hold in her tears when need be. Buttercup worried at the gravel with her shoe and muttered under her breath.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me, Buttercup?" the mayor asked. He kept his hands clasped in front of him and waited. His car pulled around the back of Townsville Jail, followed by his security detail.

"You're _wrong_ ," she murmured.

"Beg pardon?"

"You're wrong!" It just burst out, and suddenly her teeth were clenched and muscles tensed. "You don't know what'll happen here without us, you just…you don't know!"

"Well, why don't you tell me?" he said. He didn't look very surprised or angry. He must have expected this.

Buttercup's whole face was red, and her mouth quivered, but she wouldn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to describe it.

Car doors began to click open. Blossom thought it was time to cut in. "Thanks for your time, mayor," she said. "I know you're just trying to help―"

"That I am, Blossom."

"―and we're _grateful_." A terrible look from her silenced Buttercup. "But I think we've had enough for one day. Can we go now?"

"Of course you can."

The mayor's guards caught up with him just as the girls took off. One of them had removed a weapon from the back of his belt and held it behind him. The white gleam of a laser gun peeked out. Closer inspection would reveal it to be a smaller replica of Mojo Jojo's.

"Put that thing away," snarled the mayor. He followed the Powerpuff Girls's departure over the skyline with his eyes. "You never were gonna need it, and you never will."

"This stinks!" Buttercup said once they were flying home. Bubbles cried freely now, safe with her sisters and free from needing to hold her image.

"You have to admit," answered Blossom, "he made some good points."

"But it doesn't matter!" Buttercup cried. "Not even if he's right. We're not gonna leave anyway. We _can't_."

"I know," Blossom said soothingly. "We know we never will. But he doesn't know that."

"Or why," Bubbles put in quietly, sniffling. Her sisters nodded at that. Suddenly, the shadows cast dismally by the setting sun took on a sinister edge.

The girls flew slowly and low over town, Blossom instinctively and thoughtlessly in the lead. She scanned the darkening, quiet streets. She didn't stop to think about it often, but she and her sisters all knew that at some point, Townsville _had_ changed. She didn't think about it, not only because it was too sad, but because it was too hard to explain. Whenever she tried, her mind went to the way school was now. They were in the later years of Pokey Oaks Grade School, almost ready to go to Edwards Middle School. The other kids all looked older than Blossom, and even acted older in some ways. The Powerpuff Girls were different because they never aged, and everyone knew it. While they were never bullied―the kids weren't that stupid―it was harder to make and keep friends. Other girls especially would include them in a group for a while, then ignore them for good afterward, and Blossom could never figure out why. Buttercup had suggested that it might be a good idea if they tried to talk and act like everyone else, but for whatever reason, they couldn't keep it up for long. That's what always came to Blossom's mind whenever Townsville's alleys and buildings looked so much like Citiesville's.

They had been to Citiesville once, years ago, and only for all of a week, but they all remembered it well. The Professor had accepted a job there―what he had even thought was so great in that town was beyond them―and ended up hating it. Good thing, too, because they hated their school, the police, and, yes, the mayor. The town was gloomy, dark, rude, often disgusting. Everything Townsville was not. Or, hadn't been.

If they'd ever talked about this to the Professor, he might have told them that maybe the city had changed…but so had they. Probably even more so.

The streets were mostly quiet, but now the girls passed an alley crowded with kids from school, though they were a couple of grades younger. Down there, where they crowded around a dumpster and some beat-up piles of cardboard, Bubbles saw something. Whatever it was, it brought a look to her tear-stained face that Buttercup had always found frightening, though she'd never admit it in a million years. Most of the bad guys didn't know it, but sweet little Bubbles had the fiercest anger out of any of them. It flashed on her face now, and she disappeared.

"Bubbles! Wait!" said Blossom, to no avail.

Bubbles took a deep breath and opened her big mouth. "HEY, YOU….BAD…..BOYS, YOU! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

 _Him?_ Buttercup appeared next to Bubbles, but her sister hadn't even shouted two words before the kids went scrambling. A few of them looked back, terrified.

"Bubbles!" Blossom scolded. "What's gotten into you?"

Bubbles flew down the rest of the way, to where the boys had grouped. Seeing little else they could do, Blossom and Buttercup followed her. Bubbles knelt in the gravel in front of the cardboard. She slowly and gently lifted the pile and peeked under it. "It's okay," she said in a crooning, lilting voice. "They're gone. You can come out now."

For a moment, nothing changed. Then, a big triangle of a snout poked out abruptly, surrounded by a muzzle of purple fur. An unmistakable whine drifted from beneath.

"It's a…dog?" Buttercup said.

After another moment, Buttercup's guess was confirmed. The rest of a head followed. Floppy ears pulled free out into the open, and big eyes darted in all directions. The dog's fur was matted, giving him quite the city-alley look. He slid the rest of the way out, exposing his spotted back and stub of a tail

"They were poking sticks under the boxes!" Bubbles protested. She was still angry, but she tempered her voice in consideration of the still-wary animal before her. Finally, the dog seemed to realize the danger had passed. He relaxed, laid his snout to the ground, and looked up at them dolefully.

"Aww. He is kinda cute." Blossom closed her eyes and smiled herself, in a perfect arc, the kind of face that could only come from sugar, spice, and everything nice.

"He looks depressed," Buttercup noted sourly. "And probably gonna croak soon," she finished under her breath, under Bubbles' notice.

"We should take him to an adoption center," said Blossom. "There's one on the other side of―"

"I'mgoingtotakehimhome." Bubbles beamed and threw her arms around the dog, who remained largely non-responsive. Though he did give her face a tiny lick, a flick of a quite large tongue, as if he could understand what she was saying.

Blossom slapped her own forehead. "Bubbles…you know how the Professor is with you and animals. Remember when you brought that baby whale home?"

"He's not a whale!" Bubbles argued. "He's a dog. He's a _normal_ pet."

Blossom glanced at Buttercup, who only shrugged, as if to say: _She said it, not us._

"Look at you," Bubbles crooned to him. He wasn't looking at her, though. At any of them. "You're not even shaking. You must be very brave."


	3. Interlude: Courage

**_Interlude_**

Quiet. Quiet was good. He liked quiet. Quiet meant that nothing was coming to get him.

It was mostly quiet that one morning. The old wood of Muriel's chair, warm under his furry belly. Humming, her humming, from the kitchen. Right on top of the delicious smell. He whined. Lemon meringue pie. Muriel knew it was his favorite, which was why she was making it for him. But she'd gotten angry when he tried to get closer to the overpowering aroma, standing on his hind legs at the table, and knocking over the flour. She'd scolded him as he stood there, completely white from the powder, and sent him from the room. But she had to be feeling better now, because she was humming her favorite song. He smiled, laid his head down with a sigh, and let himself enjoy it.

Sun's warmth and sun's light streamed from the window, revealing the swirls of dust above the soft, red armchair to his left. The TV, almost seeming to slouch in relaxation, was blessedly off. That old thing had never done the house any good. Outside, two, slow squeaking sounds overlapped one another. One, windmill. Two, farmer and farmer's wrench. The farmer would be waist deep inside his beloved truck. He muttered endlessly and growled occasionally. It was always good whenever he was yelling at something else, not the "stupid dog." The stupid dog wouldn't have to look at the jutted, accusing chin or the grinding teeth that had rotted to the cores.

"Gahhhhh, wiggit!" Clang. Wrench fell. The frustrated yell that had its echoes through eons. "Gyuuhhhh!"

Then, a different scream. A still familiar scream, though. It was the scream he made whenever he finally realized what creepy thing was lurking about the house. But this time, whatever it was, his stupid dog hadn't seen it first.

"Ooooohh!" Alarm bells went off as Courage jumped and shivered in the air. He darted from the chair, back into the kitchen. Muriel stood up from the oven. Lemon stains covered her apron, the yellow on yellow barely visible.

"Arf, arf arf!" Incoherent blubbering. He quickly transformed into numerous terrifying creatures. Many-tentacled alien here. Werewolf there. Zombie. Giant cats and ducks.

"Now, Courage," she said. "I think you've made enough trouble for one day, haven't you?" Courage, heedless, grabbed her apron and tugged. "All right, _all right_ ," she said. "The pie needs a little more time to brown, anyway."

Muriel waddled through the sitting room in her rain boots. Courage kept yipping and dancing in front of her. Hurry! She needed to hurry!

 _Bang!_ The front door opened into Nowhere's barren landscape, stretching without end. Only the barest wind stirred the windmill. In the bright noon of day, the scene was plain. Nothing out here but the road, its only companion the fickle water pump. The truck and its engine shrouded in acrid smoke. Then, the farmer, alone and on the ground.

Oh, no.

 _"EUSTACE!"_ Next thing he knew, she was leading him, not the other way around. He followed, barking. They arrived, and Muriel fell to the ground beside the farmer. She wouldn't stop saying his name.

The floppy brown hat top-down next to him. His bald head still shiny with sweat. Not moving. Never again. Gone. And there'd been no monster, or ghost, or zombie. The farmer had died from the inside.

Quiet. Quiet had been good until he started missing the small noises. That cranky old farmer had been awful, but still a lot better than the creepy crawlies that frequently came to Nowhere. His sounds were good sounds. Known sounds. Even "Stupid dog!" made its absence felt

At least those strangers were all gone. They'd been here the same day they took the farmer who wasn't the farmer away. There weren't many; he only recognized the diner cook from way on down the road. The farmer's mother, she with the fake red tower of hair, bawled hysterically the entire time, ignored Muriel, and hugged Courage nearly to death.

"My baby boy!" she sobbed. "He was taken too soon. Too soon!"

Other sounds went missing, too. The noise of pots and pans, and the steam of cooking. That's because Muriel barely moved, barely ate. She would stay in bed far too long, then drag herself down the stairs to pull something from the refrigerator and, without cooking, munch on it on her way to her rocking chair. She would flip through channels, favoring nothing, until the next refrigerator snack, and back and forth until she went to bed again. He brought her cooked meals, and she ate them, but with no difference in enthusiasm. He tried calling in the doctor, but the Indian man took one look at Muriel and one listen of his enormous stethoscope and said, "Case of the mumps. There's nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."

So he did what he always did in the depths of a problem that he couldn't solve. He went to his computer.

It sat in a far corner of the attic, with only a mousehole, window, and dead lightbulb for company. He walked across the pentagonal length of the room, a dull thump of wood signaling each landing of his paws. He hefted himself onto the chair and switched on the machine. Bathed in the blue light of the monitor, he typed.

"HOW TO RAISE THE DEAD."

"What a preposterous question," it said drolly. The slow typing across its screen matched its tone. "The dead can't be raised. That's why they're _dead._ "

He quizzically thought of all the times that the dead, in fact, _had_ been raised in his experience. Why would this be any different?

He tried again: "HOW TO CHEER UP MURIEL."

"Oh, that's easy. Just make her happy plums recipe."

Happy plums! Of course! The cure to the mad-scientist-induced depression that had once swept through town. Her happy plums would make anything happy.

Outside. He drove the farmer's truck to the town market. Traded big green bill for bag of plums. Once back home, he cut them in half and laid them on a pan. Sour cream and her special sauce, with plenty of vinegar, went on top. "Oooohhh, I hope this works," he said to himself as he stuffed one serving into a sky-blue mug.

Upstairs, he approached her bed timidly. She sat up. There were so many wrinkles on her face than there used to be. Her face was drawn and pale. Her eyes didn't even seem open. But as she looked down at the plump plums nestled in the mug, the smile, the one missing for many days and nights, showed a shadow of itself. "Ah, Courage. You're an angel, y'are."

It was working! "Yay!" he said. He handed her the plums and waited in anticipation. Soon, things would be back to normal. Trips to exotic places. Nights falling asleep in front of the TV, lying on Muriel's lap. Even a monster would be more normal than this.

She chewed slowly on one of the plums. Once, twice. Stared at the far wall. Then, tears began to fall. "Eustace… _loved_ to eat these!" And she sobbed weakly, dryly, as if she was all cried out.

He whined. That had been the last hope. What could he possibly do now? With ears drooped, he took the mug in his teeth and slumped from the room.

"Well, don't look at _me,_ " said the computer, affronted, when he returned to the attic in indignation. "If the plums could transform a cauldron of resentment into pink, bubbly goodness, surely they could lift one little old lady's spirits."

He growled, knocked the keyboard to the floor, and stormed out. The computer was right, though. The plums had worked on an entire town. What could be stronger than cannonballs of pure hatred?

And while he was on the subject, why was she sad in the first place? The farmer had been nothing but mean to her, too. And he had _not_ loved Muriel's plums. He hadn't loved anything except money. None of this made sense.

The sun had gone to bed a while ago, and so had Muriel. Time for him to do the same. He slouched down the hall to the bathroom and poured himself a glass of water. His eyes blinked with fatigue. He turned the faucet, but the water didn't turn off completely. It just made a steady regular drip as he walked out. A leak, and no more farmer to fix it.

He returned to the bedroom and lazily turned the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. Muriel must have fastened the latch by accident. Or something more sinister…

"Muriel?" He pounded on the wood. "Muriel!"

No good. Her light snoring drifted through the door. He wouldn't be able to wake her up. But he couldn't leave her, either. So he curled up on the unyielding floor.

He couldn't give up. Not on Muriel. Surely he would think of something else tomorrow.

"Muriel? I'll save you," he muttered as he drifted off to sleep.

Quiet. If only it were anything but.

Smack, smack, smack, went his mouth in the silence. His glass of water. It had tipped over and drained in between the floor's old slats. The air rang. The darkness promised everything and nothing, in its usual way. When his eye turned to the bedroom door, its latch opened like a last gasp. The faint light of dawn shone through, bright enough only to show him the way.

He was often afraid. Of that much, he was self-aware. But this time, as he moved to enter the room, it wasn't what might lie in the darkness that frightened him, but the darkness itself. As though the threat was not what could happen, but what already had.

He squeezed through the door into a room of hazy outlines, familiar but indistinct. The bed stood in semi-darkness, but otherwise just as it had the day before. Once he stepped closer, the smell came, the strongest in nose's memory. The smell of wrongness. Of finality.

The small dog hopped on the bed with a practiced motion. He went to where the farmer once lay and circled before curling warily into a ball on the unused blankets. He watched Muriel's still form and the room at large as the sun grew stronger, sharpening the walls, floor, and furniture in stark fashion.

Time passed. It was day now, and she had never been in bed this late. He trotted over to her. Strangely, he couldn't feel the radiating, comforting warmth from her that he usually could when he was this close.

"Urf?" He nosed her face, only budging it the slightest bit. "Urf!" Come on. It was time to get up. Past time. He waited for her to reach for her glasses. He waited for her voice. He even dared hope for her smile again.

The house settled somewhere. He didn't jump.

Maybe she was gone, like the farmer. But he didn't know that yet. All he had to do was wait a little longer.

Sometime, somehow, he left the room and went downstairs. Picked up a vaguely sweet smell. He had forgotten the rest of the plums, sitting on the counter. He ate them cold.

Days and nights blurred. The house interior lit, darkened, lit, darkened again. Silence pressed around him like a vise. He tried keeping the TV on, but the sound was tinny and cold, a thin layer on a vast sea of pounding hush. Besides, it stopped working when the electricity went out and never returned.

He patrolled the outer rim of the house, even though there was no one left to protect. Soft sunrises and sunsets still came, unchanged. Otherwise, a simple dirt road and barren ground. He tried farming in the ground, but it was infertile, and he was starting to believe it always had been. He tried driving to the store for more food, but there was no way to reach the pedals and still see the road.

No one came to the house, like when the farmer died. No one was left to tell. Just the dog.

Some days, he looked for Muriel, unsure where she was. He waited for her in the kitchen, waited for his food bowl. He waited outside her bedroom door, ready to be with her through the day. Sometimes, he remembered. Other times, he didn't, and he was left with only the anticipation.

He had to ask a question.

There was no question.

He had to ask a question.

There was no question.

He had to ask a question.

There was no question.

And then came the day when the windmill crawled to a stop. The wind continued to kick up feebly, but the old behemoth never moved again. Last time it stopped, ancient ghosts had taken advantage of its breached defenses, and it had been frantic work to get it moving again to keep them away. But no ghosts. Somehow, everything was gone, even the evil things. And _somehow_ , he wished something, even something bad, was still around. But there was nothing. He was in the middle of Nowhere, really, for the first time.

And also for the first time in his life, he wasn't scared. Why would he be? The most horrible thing possible had already happened.


	4. Chapter 2: The Warrior's Plea

**CHAPTER TWO: THE WARRIOR'S PLEA**

"No, girls, I don't think he's hurt."

The dog from the alley sat on a long, white table in the center of Professor Utonium's lab. It was situated in the modest basement of the Powerpuff Girls's house. Charts of double helixes and periodic elements hung uniformly on the plain white walls. The Professor peered into a fancy-looking magnifying glass directed at the dog while the girls hovered nearby.

"Is he, like, normal?" asked Buttercup. "He's not gonna talk our ears off like that one dog we had, is he?"

"As normal as normal can be." The girls's father and creator stood from his inspection device. "I think he's going to be juuuuuuust fine."

Seeming to sense his presence was no longer required, the dog stood and stretched. Now that he was indoors and far away from his abusers, he had at least lost all tension. He hopped off the table and made a trek around the laboratory, his bouncing nose skimming across the ground. His purple reflection passed in distortion through the many beakers the Professor kept on shelves.

"Professor?" Bubbles ventured, "can we―?"

"You know the new rule, sweetheart," the Professor said. "If you can be responsible for him, you may keep him."

"Yay!" Bubbles ran to her new pet, who immediately took off across the lab floor's shiny tiles. She pursued him, to no avail, behind one of the shelves.

"Where did you say you found him?" the Professor asked. "On the east side of town? What on Earth were you doing all the way out there? There was no trouble there today."

And like a slap to the face, they were reminded. "Professor," Blossom spoke up, "there's something you should know…"

"Bygone era!?" the Professor raved, once they were done. They had migrated to the living room, where he now paced back and forth across the indigo rug. The girls had never seen him this worked up. "Why, I ought to give this new, more 'qualified' mayor a piece of my mind! You three are just as important to this town as you have ever been."

"But what should we _do,_ Professor?" Blossom asked.

"Well, I say we pay him another visit," Buttercup said, clapping her fist into her palm. "He tried to tell us what to do in Citiesville, too. It didn't work there, and it's not gonna work here!"

"You're just mad you couldn't think of anything to say," Bubbles said helpfully. In the meantime, she pet the dog, whom she'd insisted on bringing upstairs, even though he continued to be disengaged.

"Watch it…" growled Buttercup.

"No…no," the Professor said. He stopped his pacing and came to sit among them on the aqua-colored sofa. His clean, veined hands rose to his temples. His faintly lined face had fallen from indignation into something resembling regret. "I'm sorry girls, I…I shouldn't lose my head, and neither should you. It just gets under my skin when you're not valued, because you deserve it."

For at least a moment, the girls felt that terrible hopelessness vanish. That's what it meant to have the Professor as a dad.

"You see, I knew this would happen _someday_. It was natural and probably inevitable."

"Professor!" Buttercup protested. "You just said the town needs―!"

"And I meant it, sweetheart," he said. "I think the town is forgetting far too quickly what you've done for them, and just as importantly, what you've meant to them. But, at the same time, this is the town growing naturally. It's coming into its own, but it doesn't quite know what that is yet. You know what that's like. You're showing signs of growing up, too, and you're noticing things you never noticed before. Am I right?"

One by one, the girls nodded. Sometimes it felt like the whole world was deepening, becoming simultaneously more distinct and more complicated. It was more frightening than all the monsters they'd faced put together. Well…most of them.

"But that doesn't mean it needs to be all bad," the Professor went on. "Many of the villains you used to fight aren't a problem anymore, and those that still are will get the justice they deserve. That's a good thing."

"I don't know…I kind of miss fighting them," said Bubbles in a small voice. "Is that wrong?"

"You miss the old days," the Professor answered, putting an arm around her. "That happens to everyone. Everyone has something or someone in their past that they can't let go…even if that's the best thing for them."

"So, is that what we have to do?" Blossom's voice was uncharacteristically, unnervingly small. "Let Townsville go?"

The Professor struggled with words―but he never got them out. Clinking and crashing from the lab interrupted him. A slow, warbling sound pulsated from below, rattling the abstract paintings on the walls. Both the Professor and his daughters leapt off the couch. Bubbles' dog remained seated, stiff and nervous.

"Working on something, Professor?" Buttercup asked wryly but warily.

"No!" the Professor almost cried. "I wasn't even down there today before you three came home."

"An intruder, then." Blossom's voice was as cold as her ice breath. "Let's check it out, girls."

They burst through the basement door, and could only hover and gasp. The entire laboratory was _rippling._ It was as though the air had turned to crystal clear water, distorting every beaker and chart. The warbling was stronger, like music being played on a hundred wine glasses asynchronously. Bright light emerged from nowhere and briefly split into multi-colored spirals.

Then it was all gone, all of it, and in the middle of the lab stood a man in a white robe with black, shaggy hair. The robe was torn in several places, showing skin and wounds beneath. He held a grimy and chipped longsword parallel to his head and was looking wildly at the girls. When they didn't move or attack him, that wildness slowly dissipated into calm readiness.

"Are you yet another obstacle," he asked them, "or have I arrived?"

"My name is Jack. I have come from another world."

The strange man had reluctantly allowed himself to be guided to the same examination table around which the Utoniums had been clustered earlier―the same place, in fact, as the dog had sat. Bubbles, who was helping the Professor and her sisters apply bandages to the fighter's wounds, suppressed a giggle at the thought.

"Yes, and not a particularly friendly one," said the Professor. He applied anesthetic to a gouge on the man's back, causing him to grimace.

"Who were you fighting?" said Buttercup, who seemed fascinated by the new arrival. "Was it other guys with swords?"

"Buttercup," Blossom scolded. "Do you think he wants to revisit that just yet?"

"Just asking," she muttered.

"Monsters," he said, startling Blossom a bit. He stared more deeply into the periodic table than it really deserved.

"Now that you mention it, these do resemble claw marks," the Professor said. "I've seen more than a few in my day." He finished patching up Jack's ribs. "But no worries. I'll sew your…er, robe," he offered. "I have some clothes you can borrow in the meantime."

Jack nodded shortly. "Thank you."

They led him back upstairs and through the house to the other set of stairs leading to the top floor. The whole way, he studied his surroundings, almost unconscious of doing it. His eyes rejected the modern angles, the levitating steps, which were unlike anything he had ever seen. But he was accustomed to adjusting to the unfamiliar.

"Wait here, girls," said the Professor. "I'll show Jack to the closet."

Blossom hesitated. They didn't really know this man, and he was violent and bloodied. She didn't want to leave him alone with the Professor. "Actually…"

"Perhaps I should stay," Jack said. "I will change elsewhere once you have returned."

"Oh. All right." The Professor ascended the stairs. "Please, make yourself comfortable in the meantime."

Jack took a seat in the upholstered chair, sitting up sharply as he sunk into it. Blossom wondered. Had he read her mind about her suspicions? That certainly wasn't out of the question. Or was he just that aware?

They sat there, waiting for the Professor.

"Um…cool sword," said Buttercup.

"This?" He stared at the crude weapon across his lap as though his stare would break it. "It suffices."

Buttercup, uncomfortable, wasn't sure how to go on, so they all sat in silence.

A motion at the corner of Bubbles' eye. Her new dog, who had disappeared since the action surrounding Jack began, approached the chair. The purple canine sat on his haunches and regarded Jack blankly.

Jack spotted him. After a moment, something seemed to alarm him, and, faster than could be believed, he drew his sword and rested its point inches from the dog's nose.

"No!" Bubbles cried, leaping into the air. She wasn't going to let this mean man hurt her pet! But her pet hadn't moved. Nothing about him had changed.

Jack's demeanor, on the other hand, was haunted. "Its eyes. They see far. They…" His face crumpled. For the first time, lines appeared in that hard plane of a face. He sheathed his sword and reached his bare hand toward the dog. "I am so sorry."

The dog darted out his tongue and licked the man's hand. Then, he trotted away.

Jack noted the questions in the girls's eyes. "I saw myself in him," he said. "I saw my own darkness."

The Professor returned. He had chosen a simple grey jogging suit. Jack visited the bathroom (at their hasty requests) and came back out wearing it.

"You know (my goodness) I'm so sorry, we haven't introduced ourselves." The Professor stuck out a hand. "I'm Professor Utonium."

"Professor?" Jack haltingly took the offered shake. "A learned man. You may be just whom I need."

"And these are my…daughters." The girls nodded, following his lead. It was a simple enough explanation for now.

Jack sat again, resting his reviled sword on the ground. The dog promptly began to gnaw on the sheath, which the warrior ignored. "You have been so kind. One day, I hope to return the favor, but for now, I must ask for more help." He pushed his still-straggly hair behind his shoulders. "It has been a while since I have told this story. It seemed everyone I encountered in my travels, after a time, knew it in some form or another.

"Long ago, in a distant land, Aku, the shapeshifting master of darkness, unleashed an unspeakable evil. My family is a family of samurai. It was our duty to defend our village; when Aku surfaced, my father was then responsible for defending the very Earth. He failed to destroy Aku. I nearly succeeded, many years later, but he cast me into the future before I could finish him."

"Sounds like a dirty cheater," Buttercup said.

"I come from that future today, and all I have wanted for many more years is to return to the past and finish what I started. Now…"

"Now?" The Professor seemed riveted, which Blossom found quite funny, but she held in her laughter.

"To aid us in our task of defeating Aku, the gods gifted my family a sword, one that is capable of harming and even killing him. This sword was my one constant companion in all my travels…and now Aku has broken it."

The story of its breaking alone was just as incredible. An ultimate battle, Jack vs Aku, no sword or magic allowed. The hiding of the sword. The strategic game of fake swords, in which Jack was ultimately outsmarted.

"Aku left me alive to torture me, knowing I could not retrieve the sword in any way, not even with time-travel. My only hope, then, has been to find allies powerful enough to stand with me against him." Jack eyed the girls. "Professor, I can see your daughters have…undeniable gifts. Flight, and great speed."

"SUPER-speed," Buttercup bragged. "Yeah, and we're strong, too." She swooped under the couch where her family sat and lifted it easily from the carpet.

"Buttercu―" Blossom sighed.

Jack nodded. "Impressive," he said, though he sounded hesitant. "I do seek warriors of unimaginable power. Recently, Aku annihilated two entire armies in less than ten seconds. He did it with nary a thought." Just for an instant, his eyes were burning coals.

"Well now, that sounds like quite the rip-roaring monster!" said the Professor. "But the girls have handled every monster that has ever attacked the city. I bet he'll be no trouble at all for them."

Jack's face remained straight. He wanted to believe, that was plain, but…

"He won't be." Buttercup half-threw, half placed the couch back where it had been. It groaned something fierce, but at least none of the legs broke. This time. "Let's go. Right now! We can get this over with before school tom―"

" _Buttercup._ " Blossom levitated up to her sister and looked her in the eye. "It's pointless. We can't go. You know that." She turned to the samurai. "We're sorry, Jack," she said earnestly. "It's just…Townsville gets a lot of trouble, and we can't leave it unprotected. Especially if we have to go into another dimension…" She looked fervently at different points on the ground. "…there's no telling what would happen while we're gone.

"All right now, I've had enough of this." The Professor stood, turned, and regarded the girls. He adopted his Stern Voice. "This has been going on for too long. Every time I want to take you girls somewhere, you make such a fuss. What is going to happen if you're gone for a few days every year? No more than one monster ever attacks in that amount of time, not anymore. What is the worst that could happen?"

"I must hear this," the samurai said. "I must hear your reasons. Please. My world is at stake. Perhaps I can help with your struggle."

"No. You can't."

The Professor stood dumbfounded at their clear pain. He had seen them overwhelmed, grieving before. When Buttercup lost her favorite green blanket. When Bubbles needed glasses and endured harassment. When Blossom stole those golf clubs for him. This was different. This gave him chills.

Bubbles actually started, in her smallest, highest voice. "One day, we…we were racing home from school…."

"Suddenly there was this tunnel." Buttercup hugged her knees to her chest and looked somewhere in the general direction of the kitchen. "It had all these colors, like a stained glass window."

"And when we got out of it, we were back in town," Blossom whispered, "but it was fifty years later."

"Everyone's skin was spotty, and falling off…"

"Their eyes had red all around them."

"Him. He had taken over while we were gone. And they all said it was…"

Bubbles trailed off. The girls, with an effort, looked at each other. They each knew what those last two words were. The Professor, mind-boggled, did not.

"…our….F-F-FAULT."

The dam broke. The Powerpuff Girls cried like they hadn't in almost ten years, maybe ever. They held each other, releasing all the tension, all the responsibility they'd kept locked inside since that horrible day.

The lines of Jack's face softened. Despite the noise they were making, the dog remained disinterested. But the Professor's heart twisted at their sobs. For several seconds, he couldn't speak. The only thing that moved him to say something was the fact that he could end their pain. "That couldn't have happened," he said.

"How do you know!?" Buttercup burst out, tears flying from her large, green eyes. "How do you know it couldn't happen? We're always saving the day! We're the only reason Townsville doesn't burn! Of course it could happen!"

"No, sweetheart. I mean that couldn't have happened because...well, I happen to know you three aren't fast enough to travel through time."

He had never seen anyone shocked out of sorrow more quickly. Six confused, tortured―there was no other way of putting it―eyes looked at him with growing hope: that their burden might not be necessary. _No one should have to carry that, least of all my girls!_ the Professor thought.

"But we did. We're not lying! We _remember._ There was Ms. Keane waving―"

"―the mayor's sash―"

"―all the townspeople, all of them―"

"―and you, Professor, you were in the lab and―"

"If I may interject." Jack, still so placid. He waited for them to get their breath under control. "This experience sounds precisely the kind of trick Aku would concoct. Perhaps this creature did the same."

"I think he's right, girls," the Professor said. "What better way to torment you than to place this incredible burden on you? If He really planned to do this, don't you think he could just do it? Do you really think you would be able to stop Him?"

The Professor's lack of faith was not comforting, but the girls were too dumbstruck to dwell on it.

"He did…" Blossom sniffled. "He did release that gas that made everyone hate us. Maybe He just wants us to think everyone hates us."

"He didn't make the mayor say what he said," muttered Buttercup. "Or change how the people are acting now."

The Professor sighed through his nose. "And that means this is a vulnerable time for you," he said. "You have to be careful of whatever tricks He pulls."

He drew them from the air and set them back on the couch. "I don't think you understand the nature of your ongoing battle against Him. You don't weaken him with your punches. Those don't matter to Him, not really. But every time you're hopeful, or even better, give hope to someone else in despair, He recoils, grows less powerful."

"I don't understand," Bubbles said.

"With Him," he said gently, pointing to Bubbles' chest, "the battle is in here."

Ten minutes later, Jack settled into a chair at the kitchen table, the spot where Blossom sat for dinner. The Professor strode along the counter, across the yellow tiles.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the Professor asked. "Anything to eat? You had a long journey, you must need something."

"Water will do to drink," Jack said. He perked up. "Or tea, if you have it."

"We never buy tea," said the Professor, taking out a glass. "I should, though, I really should."

As the Professor ran the tap, Jack reached out to the small potted plant and lightly caressed one of the leaves. "This plant also needs drink," he said.

"Oh, really? Thanks…must have slipped my mind today and yesterday. I'll get the sprinkler."

But when the Professor handed him the glass, Jack poured a third of it into the soil before bringing it to his mouth and taking a sip.

The Professor started to say something, then simply sat down in his normal chair. "I think a good night's sleep will do them good," he said. "Good thing it's Saturday night. We'll check on them in the morning." He had seen them to their room just now after they had gotten ready for bed, and they'd fallen asleep almost instantly. No doubt exhausted from what the day had brought.

Jack placed the glass on the table, still cupping it in both hands. "Hold," he said suddenly. "If you knew the speed required for them to time travel, then you must be versed in the subject."

The Professor leaned back in his chair. "I've fiddled with it in my time," he said.

Jack, by contrast, leaned forward. "Did you ever succeed in going to the past?" he asked urgently.

The Professor chewed his lip, hesitating. "Not exactly," he said. "I brought a time machine into the girls' class one day. Their arch-nemesis, Mojo Jojo, went through it, and then they did. They saved me from a pretty tough scrape there!"

"Do you still have it?"

But before the Professor could think of an answer, Jack backed off abruptly. His eyes cast around, all intensity gone. "I'm sorry, I…forget myself."

"Think nothing of it," the Professor said brightly.

"No, I mean…I am accustomed to pursuing time machines as soon as I hear of them." His shoulders drooped. "I forget that my circumstances have changed. If I went back in time, I would be destroyed instantly."

The Professor sighed. "I wish there was something I could do to take the sadness from your eyes," he said.

Jack nodded, but otherwise didn't respond directly. There wasn't any proper response. "You have sadness in your eyes, as well," he said instead. "You have since this conversation began. Behind the hospitality and concern."

The Professor smiled pleasantly for a few seconds while looking Jack in the eye. "Well, I'm always down when my girls are," he answered.

Jack took another sip without diverting his gaze. "Of course."

After a time, they finally looked away from one another and sat in silence. That was, until the Professor sat up with a start. "If you went back in time."

"Pardon?"

"If _you_ went back in time, _to_ when you left, you'd be destroyed." The Professor stood. "But what if the _girls_ went back―"

"And do you think they can vanquish Aku, even at a time he is weaker?" Jack asked. "As the one man who has seen both them and him, I am…doubtful."

The Professor ran a hand through his hair. "If Aku is anything like Him, from our world…maybe not. But that's not what I'm proposing. If you had your sword, could you take the monster?"

"More than that. I would insist upon it. It is my responsibility."

"Then what about going back to the moment in time it was broken and change the course of history?" the Professor said, getting more excited by the second.

"I have thought of simply adjusting my time destination to that moment," Jack said gravely. "However―"

"You can't be in a time you already exist." The Professor waved a hand impatiently. "Yes yes, I've already worked that out. But…." His eyes flashed with a long-forgotten cleverness. "You haven't put the two proposals together."

Jack furrowed his brow.

"You were present at the moment of your sword's breaking," the Professor said gently. "We weren't."

And then Jack understood.

Sunday was a wonderful and needed morning for sleeping in. Blossom once was a strong proponent of the saying: "early to bed and early to wake makes a lady smart, pretty, and great." But the years had worn her down, and now she usually relished the opportunity for a little extra dozing.

This Sunday, that's not what she did. She opened her eyes while the sunlight was still golden, instead of daisy yellow. She didn't feel an ounce of tiredness. Easing out from under the covers, she crept by her sisters to the window and gazed at the trees outside. The sun, still low, shone past the city proper, casting its near side in darkness. She breathed the open air. Waking up today felt like waking up for the first time in years.

Bubbles and Buttercup scooted out of bed soon after and joined Blossom in the half-light. For a minute, they just stood there together. Talking didn't feel right yet.

"What do you wanna do today?" Bubbles finally asked.

How could one of the smallest questions ever mean so much? What did they want to do? More like what couldn't they do? There were so many choices available to them, what would they pick?

That was the thing with an enormous weight lifting. You didn't know what to do with the movement that was suddenly possible.

"You know what?" Buttercup said. "I wanna help Jack."

"Yeah," said Blossom, still looking out at the brightening day. "That sounds good."

Bubbles opened the bedroom door and would have tripped if she'd walked out. As it was, she looked down from the air in surprise. "Look! Octo stayed outside our room."

The stray dog was indeed lying there, eyes looking impassively up at them, still not alarmed at the slightest over their powers. Even animals usually found it strange and reacted accordingly. This dog didn't let out a single bark.

"Octo?" said Buttercup, face twisting in confusion. "That's what you're naming him?"

"Oh wait," Blossom said. "After Octi? Your old stuffed animal?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's purple…" said Bubbles defensively. "And I don't have Octi anymore, so…"

All three floated into the bathroom, the newly named Octo waiting outside that door as well. By the time they were cleaned and dressed, they went into the hall to find the Professor, unshaven and in his underwear, exit his room and yawn widely.

"Professor!" Blossom said scoldingly. "We have a guest, remember?"

"Oh…oh yes, of course…" he trailed off, yawning again.

"Where'd he sleep, anyway?" asked Buttercup.

"The…the old office." The Professor gestured vaguely in the direction without looking and stepped into the bathroom himself.

"But―" said Bubbles. Her sisters saw what she meant. The door was ajar.

"He must be up already," said Blossom. "C'mon, let's go make breakfast."

Down in the kitchen, they moved in their usual coordinated fashion: Blossom threw Bubbles a pan, which she gave to Buttercup to oil. Blossom added the pancake mix, which cooked until it was ready for Buttercup to flip into Bubbles' waiting plate. The Professor came downstairs once they had completed two stacks of twenty pancakes each. His hands still carried a few smudges of black from the hair dye he used every week to stave off gray hair.

"Girls," he said, hands on his hips, trying to look stern but coming off as amused instead. "Haven't you heard of a balanced breakfast?"

"It's okay, Professor," said Bubbles brightly, her blue eyes centered between the two plates she was holding. "I'm balancing them just fine."

"Wait," said Blossom. "Do we even know if Jack likes pancakes?"

"Everyone likes pancakes," said Bubbles sagely.

"Where is he, anyway?" Buttercup asked again.

"He's, er, busy," the Professor said, pointing a thumb behind him. "I saw him from the bathroom window, and―"

"What?" Stemming the pancake flow and turning off the stove, the girls rocketed to the front window. There, in their front lawn, Jack was swinging his sword, the one he didn't really like. He moved through a form effortlessly, catching the tips of grass blades every so often.

"Well, the lawn did need mowing," the Professor admitted.

"He's in his robe," said Blossom. "Wasn't that torn?"

"I guess he mended it himself," the Professor said. "I did take out the needle and thread for today. But he must not have gotten a wink of sleep. He should eat." He stepped outside the door and waved Jack inside. When Jack caught sight of this, he obliged.

If Jack found the pancake stacks strange, he gave no sign. He merely picked up his fork and took a bite. He paused, then eyed the pancakes very strangely.

"I'm sorry―don't you like them?" Blossom asked. Jack continued looking―then dove into his food, taking much larger bites.

"I guess that answers that," said the Professor cheerfully. Soon, all forty pancakes had gone. Everyone groaned around the table, holding their bellies.

"I should wash myself," Jack said, holding up his hands, "after that…what was it called?"

"Syrup," said Buttercup, who had practically drowned the pancakes in it.

"Um, hey, Jack?" said Blossom. She exchanged looks with her sisters, who nodded. "We can help you. We want to help you. We don't need to stay here."

He didn't beam or anything, but he did smile, and his face relaxed. "Thank you," he said, bowing his head.

"That's good," said the Professor, suddenly businesslike, "because we have a plan." He succinctly told them of what he and Jack talked about last night.

"Well, that's a piece of cake," said Buttercup. "We already have a time machine. You used it in our class, remember, Professor?"

The Professor drummed his fingers for a moment. "Yes," he allowed, "but that one won't work across dimensions. I will need to build one that can. But there's a problem." He hung his head, crestfallen. "I can't do it. Not on my own, and not with what I have in the lab."

"You did not mention this," Jack said, somewhat sharp.

"I'm not particularly excited about who and what I need." He looked at each of the girls in turn before going on. "I need…Mojo Jojo."

"Mojo Jojo!" the Powerpuffs said in unison.

The Professor nodded. "I've been in his lab. As Power Prof, remember?" The girls did remember his embarrassing stint as a superhero, despite how hard they'd tried to forget it. "I saw what he has in there, and I know what it does. I just can't duplicate it."

"But, Professor," Bubbles piped up. "He's locked up in prison. For good, this time! The mayor showed us his new cell and everything."

"Hmmm," the Professor said, rubbing his chin and thinking. "Well, I don't want you going and breaking him out, not with the town like it is now. I'll just have to keep going back to consult him."

"While your father is working on the machine," Jack said, "I will describe to you in exact detail how I lost my sword, so you will know what to expect whe―"

The house shook. Tinkles of glass emerged once again from the basement, followed by the distinct, otherworldly warbling from before. Everyone shot each other looks.

"Someone else is coming through?" Blossom said.

Jack's eyes sharpened. Quick as lightning, he grabbed his sword, though no one else in the room had seen where he'd put it. He rushed to the lab door, the girls close behind. The Professor and Octo trailed in the back. Jack threw open the door, and they all cascaded down the stairs, much like they all, sans Jack, had done before.

But this time, instead of merely the warped air, they found something much worse. Something had already come through. A long, enormous angular shape, black as sightlessness, hovered in midair, its base lost in the folds of bent space. It was crooking, moving up and down with the ominous creaks of a dying tree in winter.

"Is…is that a _finger_?" said Buttercup.

"Aku!" Jack exclaimed. He raised the sword in his hand, but only halfway, as though he only just remembered it was not the one he knew. He looked petrified.

"Hullo?" came a gravelly voice. "Hulloooooooo?" The tip of the finger collided with a complicated-looking setup of chemicals, sending them crashing, splashing, and flying. "I hear _someone_."

"He is trying to come through," said Jack in a panic. "That cannot happen."

"Is that you, samurai?" Aku asked. "I know you're hiding somewhere in there."

"Come on, girls!" said Blossom. They flew at the intruding presence and battered it with punches and kicks. They even threw in some laser vision.

"Oh! Oh, ouchy boo boo! My poor widdle finger! Waaaaahaha!"

"We didn't do anything at all," gasped Bubbles.

Her sisters knew she was right. Granted, none of them would have seen damage on the pure black regardless, but they knew perfectly well when they were ineffective.

"Powerful, though. Yes. Hrrmmm." The finger tapped the floor of the lab, sending cracks snaking across the clean surface. "Best not to…underestimate." And, to everyone's immense relief, the branch-like nightmare began to withdraw. "Look for me soon, happy and unconquered world." The finger slipped out of sight, and gradually, the air became still once more.

After a tense moment of silence, Jack turned on the rest of them. "It is good to know that you would have helped me out of the goodness of your hearts," he said. "But I imagine now that your generosity makes no difference. You must go now for this world's sake."

"Uh, no," Buttercup said. "We can't leave now!"

"Yes you can, girls, and you have to." The three turned to the Professor to see that he was wearing one of those rare expressions on his face that meant he couldn't be moved. The slight lines on his forehead and cheeks tightened. "You already saw. He just laughed at your attacks. You won't beat him if he comes here. At the very least, you can't count on it. We have to get the sword."

The girls glanced at each other, crestfallen. They knew he was right.

"Now, there's not much need to worry," the Professor continued, his voice softer. "We just need to move quickly on the time machine. Once it's done and we get you over there, that's it. You'll have the sword right away, because you can travel back in time right to the point when you left.

"So!" he said, clapping his hands and plastering a smile on his face, but unable to hide the worried slant of his eyebrows, "who's up for a little road trip to the jailhouse? I'll get the car ready." He took the stairs back up two at a time, the others close behind.

"That's really what you've been fighting, Jack?" Bubbles asked in a tiny voice. "He's so scary."

Jack tucked his sheathed sword into his belt and walked on, not meeting any of their eyes. "Yes," he responded. "He is."


	5. Interlude: Samurai Jack

**_Interlude_**

A hot, yellow sky baked the ancient ruins beyond the Valley of the Copses. It was a clear, brutal day, almost sizzling the russet ground beneath the crumbling structures. No wind touched the air, and no animal disturbed the silence.

Those jobs were undertaken by the two figures vigorously doing battle, their skidded landings causing dormant dust and hardened sand to rise. A nearly bare, lithe warrior fought with well-built shadow-made-flesh, clashing arms and flipping up to dance on unsteady entablatures.

Jack was making short work of Aku. His fighting skill greatly outstripped the demon's own. Aku was not used to the confinement of the human form, and never had to hone it and its movements. If this duel were to go as expected, Jack would defeat his enemy simply by doing what he did best: fighting.

But then came the cheating, as Jack had known it must. The superhuman feats of strength. The strange behavior of the pillars. The shapeshifting. It was natural to expect these when facing the master of darkness, even when the agreement had been to avoid such tricks. Thus, agreeing to this duel had been a risky business. The prospect, however, of striking a lucky blow that would complete a portion of his quest, one that would ensure safe passage to a time portal in the future, had been too tempting.

Even as Jack proclaimed that Aku's reign of terror was over, he knew it was not so. At least, not yet. But perhaps now was the time to act. He jogged over to an ankle-height opening in the rock―which he had covered with smaller rocks that had been removed, but he pretended not to notice that. So, a different dance would begin.

"All right Aku. If you cannot follow the rules, then neither will I," he said, holding aloft a scroll instead of a sword.

Aku stepped from behind a pillar and merely chuckled. Jack started at the scroll and unrolled it. _Dear Jack, LOOK BEHIND YOU. Love, Aku._ Jack had to admit, he did not expect something so banal. He had expected what was behind him, however. A skull-faced minion, holding the sword he had placed in the opening. The minion threw it to Aku.

"Say goodbye to your little toy, Jack!" Aku cried, before the meaningless stick crumbled into dust that was indistinguishable from their surroundings.

It was only the beginning. They both knew that. Still, Jack acted as though he was revealing the final flourish, pointing to an identical rock opening. This one was completely empty. A similarly identical minion sat above the opening, holding another fake sword, which it threw alike to Aku and they all watched disintegrate.

More minions lined the clearing, each with a fake sword Jack had planted. Now Aku was panicking, disoriented, and Jack knew it was genuine. The demon rushed to each sword, holding it aloft in turn, only to crush it with frustration.

As Aku did this, Jack decided to play his final card. With a confident and knowing smile, he strode to a soft stretch of sand where the real sword was buried.

In that place, he discovered a long, empty divot in the ground.

He stared at it dumbly. After a few moments, he raised his eyes to Aku and his minions, who were standing with the same sense of anticipation. This was not possible. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps he'd hidden it elsewhere.

Sensing that the advantage had shifted, Aku renewed his search with, not less fervency, but more hunger. A gleam seemed to appear in his pupils. Sword after sword exploded pitifully in the air, with the sweat down Jack's cheeks and brow becoming more pronounced. He should do something, he thought dimly. He should try to recognize it, grab it first….

It was not to be. Aku finally held up a sword and clenched a fist, sending out not a puff of dust, but a horrible, ominous creaking. Aku wailed in triumph, sending the silent, red-haired monster that had held the sword scurrying away.

"THIS IS IT!" he screamed, demented in his joy. Cracks of pure, beautiful blue opened in the sheath. The light burned brightly in all directions other than Aku, upon whose face it flickered feebly and faded. "NO MORE PESKY SAMUARI TO BOTHER AKU!"

Then came the sound of metal grating and fragmenting, a burst of dazzling white―and, suddenly, silence. The scene came back into focus, and there was the diamond-patterned hilt, whose texture Jack knew better than the skin of his own palm, lying at Aku's feet. A hundred tiny pieces of shining steel littered the ground, still mockingly somewhat in the shape of the blade. Around those pieces were scattered the ashes of the scabbard.

Quicker than lightning, Aku morphed back into his normal, cloaked, tree-like shape, though still roughly Jack's size. He glided towards Jack, one hand extended in a black blade with the same length and curve of the late, legendary sword. Jack, paralyzed and in shock, did not even think of running or parrying. Perhaps part of him knew there was immensely little point in doing so anyway. So he found himself standing there, hands uselessly at his sides, with Aku's shadow-weapon inches from his neck.

The demon regarded him with motionless and expressionless eyes, a far cry from the mania that had filled them a moment ago. The pillars of fire, ever-present above them, crackled and writhed. Jack breathed carefully, wary of any motion that would put him in contact with that blade, let alone cut him on it.

"Hmmm….well, I _could_ kill you," Aku growled, though he was more pensive than menacing. "It would be a matter of principle."

They stood that way for a while longer. Then, Aku laughed heartily and withdrew. His weapon morphed back into a long-taloned hand. "But I think it would just be so much more _fun_ to watch you stumble around the rest of your miserable life." He burst into a bat, and all his minions vanished in puffs of smoke. "We will meet again, samurai!"

And he flew away. Jack watched him disappear into the yellow haze. Jack kept his eyes on that spot long after Aku had gone. He was still looking when a star appeared there, twinkling against inky blackness, and biting cold touched his bare skin and detached consciousness. At one point, he walked over to his gi and put it back on. He looked for his hat, but it seemed to have blown away.

He had learned once how to read directions by the stars; and the stars, unlike most other things in this wretched world, had not changed. All the same, he did not know where he was going when he finally left the ruins. The four corners of the world had been shaken, and any path was lost to him.

Jack sat at a riverbank on a day that was vibrantly, unapologetically autumn. He knew not how long had passed since the ruins. He no longer counted the moons, even idly. He was a little hot on a day that would otherwise have been quite comfortable, owing to his layers of extra protection. Layers of gray and black _gusoku_ armor covered his old gi, which he could not bring himself to throw away despite its lack of use.

Water cascaded down the blade of a squat, straight, sword as he drew it from the river. It should be cool enough now to hold its new shape. He stood and stepped back, moving into a form. It was no good. Yes, the armor slowed him down, but he had practiced in it years ago with his proper sword, and felt fine.

He raised the blade and gazed along it, catching his reflection as he did so. His eyes were old. Older than they had looked in the metallic reflection of the original sword. Perhaps it was simply this blade's tendency to remain murky, its refusal to shine clear, but he did not think so.

Against the blue sky, above the edge of the sword, a thin pillar of black smoke rose. Jack narrowed his eyes. He would not be able to see smoke above these trees if the fire weren't immense. And no campfire could be that immense. An old instinct flared within him. He leapt upon his trusty motorcycle and revved through the forest, deftly weaving between trees young and old alike.

By the time he saw the walled village in the distance, on the crest of a rolling hill tufted with pines, the day had slipped into pink sunset. The smoke billowed from one of the high sentry windows. Distant screams permeated the air, and Jack ramped up his speed. Sweat beamed on his brow. His muscles coiled as he sped along.

He stopped at the base of a stairway on the west side of the village. Debris cluttered the path, but past the stairs' apex he could see citizens run to and fro. The cracks slithering along the charred walls flanking the staircase told of either great age or a terrible force. Jack deftly leapt off his vehicle and scaled the steps, acrid smells of burning flesh assaulting him all the way. Only a small row of stones was left comprising the archway at the top, and it crumbled just behind his head as he ran past.

People were strewn across the village grounds, which looked to be built more like a city now that he was inside it. Some moved, some did not. Those who did, screamed and ran from all manner of killer machines. Those who did not were plainly the source of the burning smell.

He had not even begun to formulate a plan of attack when it happened. The pillar of black that had come to define Jack's life shot into the air, rising far above the peak of the tallest building.

"Aku!" he shouted. Though to his dismay, the word did not come out with the strength and determination it had carried in the past. It might have broken at the end.

"Hello, Jack," Aku rasped with teeth bared. "I knew you were somewhere in the area. So I set up this little show."

"Why?"

Aku laughed carelessly. "Why is there ever a show? Only so someone can _watch._ "

Jack gritted his teeth. A robot with drills for hands was chasing an entire family. Jack drew his sword and started to run toward them. He had not gone three steps when an ascending dark waterfall shot from the ground and stopped him. The substance was transparent, but black around the edges. When he slashed at it, the sword skidded off, failing to mar the false glass in the slightest. He made to step around it, and the wall only expanded, continuing to block his path.

"Maybe I wasn't clear," Aku said snidely. "You are to watch _only._ "

The carnage was all around them, so Jack ran in every direction, and at every turn he was intercepted. Through the panes clear as water, he could see them pleading as they were slaughtered. Men and women. Young and old alike.

"Watch! WATCH, SAMURAI!"

He hardly willed himself to scream and slash endlessly at the unyielding forms of Aku. It seemed to happen of its own accord. All of this equipment and protection, and he was helpless to penetrate the preventative walls of black that cut him off from helping. He should never have come.

After what seemed an eternity, the screaming had ceased, and the robots had all spread about the countryside, doubtlessly searching for more villages and cities to target. Only then did all of Aku's constructs recede. It was just the two of them, standing silently, and the sea of bodies. Jack looked, unfocused away from Aku. No need to pay attention. It hardly mattered what the monster did to him next.

"I know where you are at all times, samurai," Aku said softly, with none of his signature slyness or humor. "I will not allow you to wander around aimlessly. I will ensure that death and destruction will follow you wherever you go."

The creaking, like a great tree uprooted from its long home in the soil, was immense, and despite himself, Jack turned. Aku had bent down to him and pointed a finger inches from his face. "But not for you. Never for you."

And the demon was gone, leaving Jack alone with his failure. More smoke billowed from windows. Birds called overhead, and Jack tried not to think about vultures. He could not bury all these people, so he shouldn't stay here.

Well, perhaps he could, he thought as he eventually made his way make to his motorcycle. He had nowhere to be. He could do all the work required to dig the graves and fill them. But Aku had not stopped, it seemed, at destroying Jack's most valuable weapon. He had also drained his willingness to help others.

If only he could return to the past. But simply traveling through a portal didn't seem enough anymore. That wouldn't sift away the weights in his shoulders. The images that clogged his soul.


End file.
